NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2015 Volume 15.2 - Page 16

“You are here to prostitute, this white people will show you pepper because you are fresh meat,” she kept laughing, “and you are good money for Matron and Prince in Nigeria, that is if Uyi doesn’t kill you first because you have to also pay her for rent and stay papers.” She showed me all kinds of panties — red, pink, blue, netted, transparent, short and long. Her mini-skirts were also very short and she had a big box full of makeup. She threw all kinds of leggings on the floor like a trader in a second-hand clothes stall. I was confused and did not know what to make of Beauty’s information. “Itohan, here I play with white men who are old enough to be my grandfather. I do anything they want, if they want me to dance I dance, if they want me to do myself, I do and if sometimes they bring their dog…,” Beauty started crying again, “Just to get money to pay Matron and stop the nightmare from Benin whenever I miss a single payment. Have you been given your payment plan yet?” “So it is the same school lie Matron told you in Benin, abi? Na God go punish that old witch, I was doing well as a nursing student at the University of Benin when she lured me out…Ogun will punish that woman forever and ever.” Beauty put both her hands on her shaven vagina and cursed Matron, “This my toto will hunt that woman for the rest of her life,” and she walked to her room crying. I followed Beauty to her room, silently. 14 “See these, see these clothes? These are what you will soon be wearing under red light not the ones you brought from home.” “No.” Something was coiling around my throat, like Matron’s stethoscope, a snake. I couldn’t breathe and I held my throat. “Well, that witch who calls herself Uyi is playing the welcome game with you. She will soon let you know that you did not come to Italy to look at the beaches but to go out and fuck crazy old white men. You wait and see.” “Beauty are you alright?” I asked when I recovered from my choking, I could not think of any other question to ask her. “I received a call day before yesterday that my mother died and I do not feel like working. If na die, make I die. I have been working for three years now and yet my mother died like a chicken in Benin. I wish it was Matron that died.” I hugged Beauty and we started crying together. “It was the night of my mother’s wake keeping that Matron offered to bring me here.” I started rocking back and forth while holding tight to Beauty, two of us motherless babies.